Return
by Nimfalath
Summary: COMPLETE! Oneshot, Will after Lyra is gone.


This one shot was originally the first chapter of a series, but I decided it could stand alone.

* * *

The bright sun shone heavily on the warm earth, casting light onto every leaf, every brick, and every surface except for one shadow that lighted the ground. The shadowy fur of this animal had such a depth to it. It was not a shadow, but layers of color on color, shades of blue, hues of purple, and tints of gray. It was infinite, beautiful. It was subtlety itself unmasked in the daylight.

Store windows threw the sunlight onto the boy who walked by them, and he gazed indifferently at the image of himself in the panes. The large, subtle cat trotted next to him, but the boy did not acknowledge its presence. Instead, he looked at himself and thought he looked incomplete. He _felt_ incomplete. He was utterly alone in the world, lost, wandering, _alone_ except for his furry companion. The boy's heart ached. His limbs were tired. His body desperately pleaded to him, begging him to rest, but he kept walking. He was like a soldier returning home from war, trying vainly to adapt to normal life—a life without death, combat, or fear. Where could he go? How could he pick up his life?

The two forms crossed a wide street. There was little traffic; the midday Oxford life was quiet here, undisturbed by their presence. The boy and his unusual cat soon found themselves in a hushed park. The boy collapsed on a bench, and the cat jumped into his lap. She licked the stubby, scabbing stumps of fingers on his left hand gingerly as he stroked her back absentmindedly with his free hand.

His mind wandered to the world and the life he had left: northern lights, great bears, witches, mulefa, dæmons, the wheeled trees, and the dead. He thought about Serafina Pekkala the witch queen, of the Chavalier Tialys and Lady Salmakia, of their brightly colored dragonflies. He thought of his father, and—though he fought desperately against it—he thought of _her_. Lyra Silvertongue, her fair hair shining as brightly as her smile, lying beneath the amber trees, swallowed by the golden ambience of a full sun and tall grass. Her warm skin, her beautiful lips—her bravery, her strong will, Pantalaimon! Stroking her marten as her fingers glided over his cat. The joy, the small gasp of delight at the intimacy of touching the depths of each other's soul. There was no other in the world! They were—

"Will, stop," the cat said suddenly, standing up in his lap. "Stop it. We can't see them again, not ever. So stop dreaming and stop wishing. Lyra told us to move on. We'll see them after we're dead, but until then we have a _life_ to live."

"Kirjava," Will sighed, running a hand through his messy dark hair, "I can't! I can't stop thinking of her. How can I move on? After experiencing everything, after all that's happened, how can I move on? Where do we start? Where do we pick up our life?"

Kirjava brushed against her human lovingly, attempting to soothe him. "Once mother is back," she told him, "we will know what to do."

Will nodded solemnly, not really believing his dæmon's words. He exhaled miserably and curled up sideways on his bench, resting his head on his arm. Kirjava pressed herself against his chest and curled up under his other arm. Once Mary Malone returned with his mother, everything would be all right.

"Rest a little while," Kirjava whispered. "You haven't slept since we've been back. I'll stay awake and watch out." Will did not nod this time, but simply obeyed. His eyes closed willingly, and he slipped into a beautiful slumber, sharing dreams of Lyra and Pantalaimon with his feline soul.

* * *

"Will, come on! Wake up, Will—it's three o-clock already!"

Will opened one eye lazily, frowning at the sudden wrench from sleep. The large black cat nuzzled him and nipped at his nose. "Will, we're going to be late!"

Immediately Will was mostly awake, and both human and dæmon reeled off the bench, swooning with the lingering sleep and overwhelming excitement. Oh—Mother! Their hearts pounded eagerly as they ran over the cement toward the general direction of Mary Malone's apartment. The city had come to life meanwhile, and they vigilantly avoided the swarming traffic of pedestrians and vehicles. Kirjava leapt powerfully out of the reach of a screeching tire and into her human's arms. Getting home had never seemed so important.

When the two finally arrived at the doctor's door—and not a moment too soon—they found the complex abandoned. Mary had offered to share the space with the Parry family, and Will had gladly accepted the offer. A new home was exactly what they needed. It would keep them out of the reach of the men searching for his father (who was dead now anyway), and he would be living with Mary! He would always have someone to talk to. Well, when his mother wasn't around anyway. But alone, he and Mary Malone—along with their dæmons—could relive their adventures. It would be marvelous.

Will collapsed on the soft armchair and let Kirjava jump out of his grasp. The feline paced anxiously on the thin carpet floor. Will tapped his foot nervously.

Mother was coming back! Would she be angry? Would she still be the same? Would she…

"Oh, Will!" Kirjava sighed at once, jumping up to lick his dark face. "You're filthy! Oh, Mother will be so disappointed if she sees—" The boy needed no more prompting, but sped to the washroom with a cry of alarm. He splashed water onto his face—soaking his front in the process—and vainly attempted to tame his unkempt hair. His clothing was another eyesore entirely, but he had no time to change; the front door clicked open, and he heard voices. Mother! Kirjava appeared on the counter, shaking all over with anticipation.

"She's here!" the cat panted. "Mother's here!"

Will took a moment to placate his nerves. His hands shook almost as much as his dæmon, but he calmed down eventually. He had to be strong and brave, for his mother. It's what Lyra would do. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, and at last he stepped into the thin hall.

First he saw the little blackbird dæmon of Dr. Malone fly by him, then Dr. Malone herself, and then… His face lit with a smile.

"Mother!"

"Oh, Will!" the woman said happily. "There you are!" His thin, lovely mother pulled him into a hug, as if the world had never changed. As if he'd just been out to school, or she'd only been shopping. She held him as though he was still a boy, a wonderful child, sheltered and obedient. Will cherished the moment, wishing the feelings were real.

But his mother pulled away, and reality settled in. He had abandoned her, braved another world, seen his father, met his love and best friend, fought alongside angels, ripped apart dimensions, freed the dead spirits of millions, and—his mother saw it instantly—he had _grown up_. She held a trembling hand to her mouth and looked at him long and hard. While she had been away, her dear boy had become a young man.

Will immediately threw his left hand into his pocket, hiding his mangled fingers from his mother's sight.

"Would you like some tea?" Mary offered, settling on the sofa awkwardly.

"Yes, please," his mother choked. "I'd love some. And you, Will dear?"

"I'll have some too, please."

Mary nodded and her small dæmon lighted on her shoulder. She stood and walked into the kitchen. "Those two have a lot to catch up on, Staralfur," she told her dæmon. He nodded. They could both sense Will's difficulty at transitioning back into their own world. In truth, the doctor and her dæmon were having an equally difficult time. After spending so much time with the mulefa, after helping them so significantly, how could she ever revert to her old life? She had grown so used to their customs and their language. And she had been of so much use to them! In her own world, she had amounted to little. But now, she planned to use her knowledge about shadow particles to help her own world.

She had another purpose. Now Will needed to find his.

Staralfur chirruped that the tea was finished, and they returned to the living area with three steaming teacups. Will and his mother had settled on the sofa, engaged in small conversation.

"I'm so sorry," she was saying. "I know I've behaved so absurdly in the past, and I hope you can forgive me for what I've put you through. It's getting better now, a little." Will was slightly taken aback at this statement (his mother had never really acknowledged the fact that her behavior had been strange), and he grinned.

Despite his happy exterior, however, there was something mature and heartrending deep in his eyes. He had experienced a terrible loss, and it was eating at his heart. His mother would not pressure him to address it; when he was ready, he would talk. "Well, I'd rather not," she continued. "I'd rather not talk about it, really. Oh, Moxie!" she exclaimed suddenly, but the dark cat who had leapt onto the back of the couch, she realized, was not Moxie at all.

"Her name is Kirjava," Will explained carefully as his dæmon slid onto his lap. He stroked her fur thoughtfully, not wanting to explain further. He had no intention of telling his mother his story. Kirjava shifted uncomfortably.

"How lovely," his mother said, reaching unknowingly to pet the dæmon, but Kirjava was quick to evade her touch and dashed adroitly behind the furniture. Will looked back up at his mother and smiled.

"So, did—did you find a good doctor or something?" he asked her casually. He watched his mother apprehensively as the words escaped him, but with a pang of sadness, he realized that the familiar faraway look had appeared in her eyes. She had not heard his words, but stared blankly at him, like a mouse whose gaze reflects no deep thought or intelligence. Will's spirit imploded in an instant, and he knew at once that his life could never return to normal again. "Mother? Mother…"

"Will, oh Will," she babbled, climbing to her feet. "The window panes…one, two, three over here! Help me. Help me find them all." She staggered about the room, devoid of thought, and focused her attention entirely on the task at hand. Will glanced helplessly at the doctor sitting perplexed in the corner, sipping at her tea.

Despairingly and without any choice, Will stood and assisted his poor mother.


End file.
